Wasteland
by grecian
Summary: A short story about Aragorn, Legolas and an AU character.


Wasteland

Pain, it had become his constant companion for so long that he could feel nothing else. Stripes from wicked floggings decorated his chest, arms and buttocks. Marks from feral teeth had punctured his inner and outer thigh. There were burn marks in his palms and under his feet and still it was not over.

The Uruk who straddled his waist as he lay helplessly pinned to the ground, dug his long, pointed, filthy talons deeper into the flesh of the man's bare back.

The man tossed his head from side to side in agony, breath hitching as he tried to bear this new assault.

The Uruk gave a loud bark of laughter as he yanked his claws free, he leaned down low, hands framing the man's head now and he began to lick the salty tears that started to trickle down his lean cheeks.

"Dunadan, mine," he growled.

The Uruk's deep voice cut like broken glass in the man's ear.

Eyes tightly closed and shaking, the man clamped his lips shut as the beast's tongue wandered from his cheek to his mouth.

Like a live thing, the tongue rasped over his tightly closed lips many times but finding no pleasure there, moved on to his ear.

The man winced as the Uruk chewed sharply at his skin.

Ignoring these signs of pain the Uruk leisurely traced a bloody path from the man's face to his neck, then to his chest. He smiled when his victim's breathing became erratic with dreadful denial.

The man began to struggle as the Uruk's tongue licked at the two sensitive points on his chest, his eyes opening wide in disbelief. Eyes, dark yellow with hatred stared back into his. The thing's thick, matted foul smelling hair suddenly covered his face as the Uruk abruptly sprawled along the length of his body causing him to fight for breath.

The Uruk took great pleasure in his victim's discomfort. He teased him over and over again, licking and nipping at his nipples, neck and lips until the man was squirming in misery. Uruk grinned as the man tried to keep his mouth closed but he knew the cloying stench and the weight of his body would win him that fight.

Drowning, he was drowning in stink, the man tried with all his might to not breathe at all, but breathe he must and his lips parted for just a desperate second.

Like a hawk that is quick to snatch its prey from the earth, the Uruk's tongue found and forced its way into the warmth of the man's mouth and all was lost. He plundered that sweet moisture with sandy tongue and razor sharp teeth almost swooning with pleasure at the panicked, muffled whimpers of his victim…

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Pain, pain like he had never felt before, flooded his bowels. He would have screamed but foul lips had covered his and gave him no quarter.

The Uruk took his slow pleasure of the man until he was utterly spent. When he was done, he checked to see if it still breathed. It was. Strong one. Then he licked the blood from the man's mouth, neck, chest and groin. He loved the taste of him. He bent over him forehead to forehead and whispered.

"I will despoil you until you are no more Dunadan, till your very flame is extinguished and vanishes from this world and the next."

With these words he stood and walked away leaving a torn and bleeding victim in the dark to weep quietly as his soul shriveled inside him.

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Never had a man wished for release from the world as the young Dunadan did as he slumped sideways, unable even to stay upright after another visit from the Uruk. Since the very first time, he had shed no more tears during his frequent abasements. Silent even during his many beatings, he thought of nothing and no one. His world had shrunk to the smell of his captor, the sound of his footsteps and the ever present darkness. Yet he would tremble when a memory of his former life threatened to push free in his mind, then he would cry out with grief and curl in upon himself until he forced his thoughts into a soothing blank nothingness once more.

The Uruk was more than a little disappointed that the human yet lived. Most of his prey fled their earthly form within three marches of the sun across the sky. It had been eight with this one. 'Stubborn', he thought and he spat the bones of his meal into an already overflowing corner of the place he called home. He had performed every wicked and degrading act that he knew of and then some upon the Dunadan and yet still it lived. He pulled his short knife from the carcass of the deer he ate and examined it, proud of its sharpness and weight. He had killed many with this knife, but knife work was over so very quickly, instead he cut a piece of flesh from his meal and chewed thoughtfully.

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Aragorn awoke with a start as the footsteps of the Uruk echoed in the surround. 'No,' he thought in panic, 'no' it had never come back so quickly before, despite his best efforts a cold fear filled his belly and he shivered.

The Uruk grabbed it by the hair and pulled it forward, only stopping to cut the rope around its ankle when the man cried out. Grinning he half dragged, half carried his prisoner through the many tunnels and passageways that made up the place.

Panting like a spent dog Aragorn felt rather than saw that they were going towards the entrance for his eyes were tightly shut at first. There was a faint draft of air that grew stronger the more the Uruk walked. Then as he chanced to look about them, the gloom began to change into barely perceived shapes. They were in tunnels of some kind… without warning he was suddenly propelled into full sunlight.

Falling badly Aragorn arched off the ground in renewed pain mouth wide open in a guttural scream.

This pleased the Uruk greatly, already his plan was working splendidly.

The Uruk observed the Dunadan as it writhed around in an attempt to find some sort of relief with a kind of fascinated pleasure. The more the human moved the more it hurt. Finally it lay spent, trembling like a young leaf in a storm. What a tasty image it made, soiled, bruised and beaten it lay there naked, its dark hair a long, dull, tangled mess. When he flipped it over with the tip of one boot, he smiled at the dread in its beautiful eyes, the weakness evident in its limp body. So young this one, that it sported only the barest of down on its cheeks. Very sweet it had been to touch and taste. But it was time to end it.

Stooping he grabbed one of its hands. He pressed the knife onto an oozing palm.

"Fight," he growled, "you win you live." Then he stood and backed away.

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FIGHT, the word echoed through his head, FIGHT. Feeling the weight of the knife in his hand Aragorn tried to curl his fingers around the hilt, but a lightning shot of pain raced through his hand, reminding him of how badly scorched was his skin. An unintentional groan escaped his lips, his situation was hopeless. He could not even gain his feet. His throat was parched, his stomach hollow, his hope faded. He lay there squinting against the light of the evening sun at the bulk of the Uruk as the massive beast loomed into his vision.

"This is the end at last,' he thought 'at last.'

The Uruk raised one massive foot, intending to crush the innards of the human so that he could listen to it suffer as it tried to breathe but couldn't and watch as blood filled its mouth and spilled into the earth.

There was a slight sighing in the wind as two arrows pierced the head of the Uruk with barely a space between them.

Like a rotted tree that is felled at last, the Uruk collapsed heavily to the ground, unaware of his own passing.

The elf who had fired the killing shot was upon the carcass of the Uruk before it had even hit the ground, silver blade swinging to sever the head from the body. The other approached the pitiful creature that lay supine upon the forest floor.

"Legolas," he called quietly, "he yet lives."

Legolas kicked the head some distance away in disgust before joining his brother who was kneeling at the side of the young man.

Aragorn slipped in and out of awareness as he waited to die. He could barely feel the pain that had plagued him for so long. He briefly wondered if he were already gone from Arda.

Calad examined the nastiest of the young man's visible wounds of which there were many. The worst were the punctures along his back, they were puffy with putrescence.

"We must treat these quickly but we cannot move him far from here." he said.

Curling his lips in distaste, Legolas wondered why they should waste their time on an obviously dying human. But he said nothing knowing his brother would chastise him soundly. All of Lluvatar's creatures were precious to him.

Scooping up the young man in his arms Calad motioned for Legolas to lead the way.

Aragorn felt a spark of agony as something lifted him high. His wrenching cry did not go unheeded. Legolas was very careful when he took him from Calad so that his brother could climb onto the platform, leading to the recess under the waterfall.

"Lay him here," commanded his brother. And he did, ever so gently.

Calad his senior by eight thousand years or so was as skilled as any elder in the kingdom in the arts of healing and herb lore. Legolas had always found such tuition dull and had managed more times than not to 'miss' his sessions. He preferred archery, knife work and horseplay and though his father had chastised him soundly when his teachers complained, secretly he was pleased. The king did not really consider healing a skill fit for any prince of the realm.

Nevertheless Legolas fetched many vessels of water from the fall, so that Calad could clean the young man from head to toe. He finally got respite when Calad was finished and began to concentrate on the wounds themselves.

They had not chanced upon this sanctuary. It had been but a small alcove when he and another two of his brothers had found it many years ago. By dint of back breaking labour, they expanded the place until at least six elves could occupy it comfortably. It was a sensible thing to have many a bolt hole handy when fighting spiders, orc and other beasts at the outer reaches of The Wood.

"Murivor!" his brother suddenly commanded, and Legolas wasted no time in passing the precious liquid to him.

"Help me hold him," he said…

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If cold and heat could be one terrible sensation, then this is what Aragorn felt as the clear liquid spread through his body. Screaming he lurched to his feet, ready to fight off the beast. He shook as he braced for the first blow, eyes wide with fright. But there was no beast there. Gasping he stared with huge eyes at not one but two elves.

"Help me," he whispered as the world swayed and all went black.

Calad caught him as he fell and eased him back unto the bedding. Placing one long hand over the young man's heart, the elf nodded in relief. It beat strongly. Now the real work of healing could begin.

Legolas kept watch as for four long days Calad worked tirelessly to save the young man's life. At particular times the boy would fight, and the elf would have to help hold him still. Whenever this happened he would weep and beg for mercy. They both knew why. The evidence was very plain to see. Legolas felt his heart soften towards the young human. He regretted killing the Uruk hai so quickly.

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Light chased shadow, silence turn to sound and finally Aragorn came back to himself. He heard voices, musical voices that reminded him of home and safety. He opened his eyes eagerly thinking that his brothers had found him at last… There were two of them, one taller than the other. Covered in dark green and brown clothing, their silver, gold hair shone out all the more. Aragorn swallowed tensely as his eyes darted from one to the next.

Then the taller spoke, "How do you feel child?" he asked with obvious concern in fluent Westron.

"I, I" Aragorn stuttered to answer, finding his voice husky from days of abuse.

"Forgive me," continued the tall one, turning to the shorter he ordered him to bring wine.

Aragorn licked his lips as a wooden goblet was offered. Close to tears he sipped the wine feeling the warmth fill his belly. Soon meat and berries were offered to him. He ate as they watched him, he knew that they must be warriors of Mirkwood. As he finished, the shorter took his utensils away. Aragorn licked his lips again finally finding his voice he said in Sindarin.

"I thank you for my life dear elf. I surely would have perished without your help."

But at the end of his sentence he bowed his head in shame, unable to look at the one who has seen him at his lowest. But Calad who had seen much, much worse in his long life simply gathered the young man to his breast.

At such kindness Aragorn could not hold back his scalding tears.

Legolas returned to find Calad comforting the young man. It was quite a while before Aragorn was in control of himself. At their prodding and aided by quite a few more goblets of wine he revealed much.

Legolas had been curious about him and while Aragorn had lain in deep sleep he had returned to the place they had found him. Exploring the winding caves he had found a sword, ring, a coat and boots of elven make which he was sure belonged to the young human. Now having satisfied his curiosity, he came to a decision.

As Aragorn nodded off into a blissful wine filled sleep, Legolas said to his brother,

"I will journey with him into the wilds, he needs much aid this one. I can teach him much of swordplay and knife work."

Calad was surprised and pleased for though he loved his sibling, he worried about of his lack of compassion for others and his impatience with everything and everyone.

"I will convey your decision to _ada_ ," he said.

Then they both looked at the sleeping ranger into whose hands the fate of all middle earth would soon rest.

Finis


End file.
